The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-04-23

wide, swampy field with a stockade
around it, inside which thousands of us
we're cooped up like cattle IL pen. If
a man happened to have blanket and
two or three bits of sticks go he could rig
up shelter against the sun and rain, all
the better for him; it he hadn't he just
took his chance; and can tell you, there
we're mighty few blankets among us and
many had little enough clothes either
"All day long the sun kept roasting us
alive; and at night the damp and chill
ate into the very bones, and kept us
shiverinR until our teeth ratified again.
As to food, many's the time l have gone
all day on couple OF biscuit, and small
ones at that, and as to the water, all we
had was from stream that ran through
a cypress swamp, and you may think
what kind of stuff that wae."
you must have been powerful hungry,
reckon" remarked a sympathetic list
ener.
Hungry? Well, I'll just tell you some
thing about that. One day young fell
low, the son of the general that had us
in charge, came into the pen to look
around with his little poodle dog follow
ing him. He'd hardly turned his back
when that dog was chopped up and eaten
bodily; and when his master came to
look for him there was nothing left of
him but a bit of skin, about so big. They
stopped our food for whole day be-
cause we wouldn't say who did it; but
we told no tales-not we.
"Now, L should tell you that to make sure
of our not 'scaping they'd run wire all
around inside about eighteen feet from
the stockade; and that eighteen feet was
called the deed hne,' because if prison
er only put his head over that wire he
got bullet in him the next minute from
one of the sentries.
well, one night late in the Fall I'd
got as close to the dead line as 1 could,
so that the stockade might shelter me a
bit from the cold wind. (Ughl how it
did bite through me that nightD L was
just wondering if 1 could live through
till morning, and hardly caring whether
did or not, when sentry just outside
gave psf that made me look up.
"'Say, Yank,' he whispered, I guess
you'll want a blanket tonight. Catch
bold of this And he rolled up his own
and chucked it to me. Il can get along
without it.
GOOD bless your says land that was
all. l chucked it back TO him, first thing
next morning, so as he shouldn't get
found out, but guess it saved my life
| al The "a
"Not long after that lot of us were
exchanged, and I among the rest. can
tell you hardly felt the ground under
my feet when L went out of that filthy
| hole a free man, though just at first
was as weak as baby and could hardly
stand without being held"
And did you never hear no more o
that fellow as Civ yer the blanket?"
asked one of the audience with undis-
gulsed interest.
"Never, worse luck! and don't sup
pose ever shall now, for its good TWEEN
ty years now since it all happened, and
I've never been South SINCE"
At that moment sharp voice said:
"Say, Yank, guess you'll want a
blanket to nightP'
The soldier started as if he had been
shot, and turning hastily, found himself
confronted by the thin face of the one
armed newspaper man lit up with a
knowing smile.
"Why, if here amt the very man him.
selfr' shouted the narrator, Selling him
with both hands. "Well, who'd ever
have thought it?" You're just going
along to New York with me, old chap
and you don't ever go back to peddling
papers while I'm about"
And the ex-prisoner was as good as his
woad.-DdUid Kerr IN Good Company
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